


Ultra Omanjuu Gangbang Supreme

by AnonymousHeavyIndustries



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Communication Failure, Consentacles, Dubious Consentacles, Established Relationship, Gangbang, Infidelity, M/M, Muscle Growth, Omorashi, Sounding, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousHeavyIndustries/pseuds/AnonymousHeavyIndustries
Summary: Training is rough, his boyfriend's an idiot, and Rin just realized his long distance relationship is about to cave in on his head, but you know what? Things are gonna be okay. He's got a group of big, dependable buns that support him physically, mentally, and...intimately.
Relationships: Matsuoka Rin/Other(s), Matsuoka Rin/Yamazaki Sousuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Ultra Omanjuu Gangbang Supreme

**Author's Note:**

> What better way to celebrate the manjuu reprint and the new giga-manjuu?
> 
> Similar to stories I’ve written before, the arm of consent jigs about a bit and therefore this story is tagged as such. Read at your own discretion.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with [the manjuu.](https://files.catbox.moe/lq0yuk.jpg)

There were limits to how stupid somebody could be. Rin stuffed his phone into his pocket, teeth grinding, wrist throbbing in its brace. _Rest, ice, stretches._ Amazing how a text that short could piss him off that much. _Rest, ice_ —like hell he didn't know! Who was the one who kept Sousuke from choking on his bloody nose when they were stupid kids breaking their faces on the playground? Who made him a splint and dragged his big ass up the mountain when he dislocated his knee snowboarding? Who took time out of his jam-packed schedule to painstakingly research the latest in sports medicine to help him recover from his torn rotator cuff? That's right, it was him, Matsuoka Rin, an athlete clearly familiar enough with basic first aid to not have to be told how to treat a stupid fucking sprain.

Where was the sympathy? The _I'm sorry to hear that, I hope you get better soon, I miss you, I love you, I wish I was there so I could wait on you hand and foot_ —not that he needed waiting on, but it was the thought that counted and Sousuke didn't think at all.

The whole week had been rotten. Times plateaued. Grocery store stopped stocking his cheat day crisps. Tore a huge gash in his new legskins. Riding the tail end of a case of food poisoning from a salmonella outbreak the news hadn't said a word about. (He'd eaten raw eggs a thousand times in Japan and he gets it from lettuce, of all things?) And now a sprained wrist that wasn't his fault and a useless, inconsiderate boyfriend.

He trudged upstairs on sore legs (the elevator was broken because of course it was). Sitting on the raggedy commercial carpet before his flat was a small oblate spheroid. Some kid's toy. Rin stooped to grab it, jerked away. It was warm, human warm, no doubt absorbed from the sweaty hand of the brat that dropped it on his welcome mat like a sack of dogshit. He picked it up for real and rotated it in his palm, looking for signs of ownership. No names, seams, trademarks, or tags. Whatever it was made from was soft, yet springy, like a good manjuu. The exterior featured a printed chibi face with a shock of dark brown hair and droopy teal eyes. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Well, you're a cute one, aren't you?"

The Sousuke manjuu smiled placidly, radiating that strange, assuring warmth. Rin pocketed it. Kids oughta learn how to protect their valuables.

Halfway through dinner prep, he gave up. He slammed the knife on the cutting board and cursed the array of irregularly-sized eggplant chunks. The oven loosed a scolding beep— _ready when you are, chief_.

"Oh, shut up."

Must everything be this way? Clawing uphill for a sandwich, dealing with the Devil to brush his teeth. Through the hours spent cradling his wrist on the bus, waiting at the clinic, fighting the urge to kick Alan's teeth in, he’d thought that if nothing else went right, at least he would have a nice homecooked meal, but no, not even that. He dug out the manjuu and **squeezed** —that fucker Alan, the broken elevator, the torn skins, the sickness, Sousuke— **squeezed** til it bulged through his fingers. When he opened his fist, it shrank back, smile inflating to pristine form.

"I'm done with this fuckin week."

It understood.

The salmon would keep in the fridge for another day or two, garlic was dirt cheap, the tomatoes he could eat raw with non-salmonella-infected salad, and he could buy a new eggplant when his wrist was ready. He dropped the manjuu and started flicking through reviews of nearby restaurants. Mediterranean, Thai, Vietnamese... Nothing sounded appetizing. He'd been so set on this he didn't have a taste for anything else.

 _ **Sounds complicated for you. Send pics if you make it,**_ had been Sousuke's response when Rin sent his weekly meal plan. The "if" rankled him so hard he went to bed early. Not everybody grew up in the back of a family restaurant, breaking down chickens before dawn and bathing in the blinding fumes of diced onions so long that he earned the nickname “Negisuke” for the smell that never quite quit him no matter how hard his mom scrubbed. He could do more than toss shit in the oven and steam veggies in his rice cooker, or he was trying to.

His hand bumped the manjuu. Though upside down, gentle encouragement remained fixed on its face. He resumed chopping. If Sousuke didn't think he could do it and he didn't have the energy to believe in himself, then the manjuu could believe enough for the both of them.

—

Rin choked and horked awake, awash in a sea of sweat. Cotton spilled from his ears, steady bustling through his brain, so the situation didn’t take hold until the next cough gurgled forth, heaving chunks of gooey yellow crap into his mouth. He groped for the box of tissues on his nightstand, spat, chiseled away the snot moustache crusting his upper lip.

"Really?"

The world swam as he tried to sit up, so he peeled his phone off the stand, sent a brief message to Mikhail, and dropped back into the cold, grotty sheets. Not a single moment's relief, not one. He'd been clear of the salmonella for all of... Another coughing fit rattled fire through his lungs and he forced himself to get up and confirm he didn't have anything for a cold or flu or whatever this was before he surrendered himself to languishing in bed. He shambled between the junk drawer, bathroom, kitchen. Pills, powders, and capsules aplenty for his stack, but nothing to keep the sniffles at bay. What was he saying? Right, clear of the salmonella for all of... well, it'd been a week since the manjuu showed up.

He collapsed back into bed and texted Sousuke.

_Sick :(_

**Again?**

_It's the flu or something this time I dunno_

_My immune system's probably still fucked up from the food poisoning_

**Sucks.**

_Keep me company_

An excruciatingly long pause. **Kinda busy w/work**

_Full shift or half?_

**Full**

**But I'll try**

The trying lasted about an hour, increasingly terse messages terminating on: **Sorry it's really busy I'll call you tonight**

Fat chance. A full shift meant nonstop cooking, serving, and cleaning until 11PM, at which point Sousuke would drop into bed and remain dead to the world until Kazuma burst into his bedroom and badgered him into morning prep. "Call you tonight" was as real and meaningful of a promise as "we're having an underwater wedding off the Gold Coast". It wasn't like he expected Sousuke to drop everything for him, but fuck. He couldn't even hope he'd get a lunch break.

Souman (né "the manjuu") held vigil on the nightstand, smile unfrazzled as Rin yanked out a new tissue and plastered an Impressionist masterpiece over it. He wadded up the soggy tissue, pitched it in the general vicinity of his trashcan, and tapped him on the head.

"Least I've got you.”

Souman's compact body had made him a regular passenger of the Matsuoka Pocket Express. It afforded Rin a peculiar comfort to know he was there, that he could squeeze some fortitude out of him and go on with his day. A real Pocket Sousuke would be better though. They'd talked about that before, miniature versions of one another, prompted by a shitty movie whose title he forgot.

 _ **It wouldn’t work,**_ Sousuke said, letting his legs monopolize the otherwise empty train car _,_ _ **you’d try to be cute and wake me up too early and I’d smash you on my pillow**_ **.** _Man, don’t kill me before the day even starts._ Rin leaned into him, delighted at his stupid resolution to keep his eyes fixed on the passing mountains instead of him. It was the cute form of his stubbornness, the one that made him want to hold him down and tickle him til he cried. Speaking of... He edged a hand across the front of Sousuke's jacket, and Sousuke preemptively snatched it and put it back at his side where it belonged. _**Sou**_ _suke_ , he teased, the emphasis guaranteed to get under his skin. _**No.**_ _No what?_ No response was what. _I’d have you make me breakfast. Imagine you trying to carry a pepper grinder twice your size. Jumping on the spatula to get my eggs on the plate._ _**You’re the big one, make your own breakfast.**_ _Nah, you should make me breakfast every day, big or small._ Sousuke crossed his arms and sunk into his coat, sprawling his legs wider, and still refused to look. Rin laughed, swinging a knee out to knock against his. _You’re really gonna have me eating crumbs out the bottom of your pocket?_ _**You’re not getting in my pocket. I know what you’d do down there.**_ The train paused at a stop where no one got on, and Rin slid his hand into said pocket, asking, _Was it something like this?_

Normally the memory stirred big, fuck-off butterflies, but the sickness was too strong. Sousuke, dismounting the train in Sano, red-faced and raspy-breathed; Sousuke walking like he had a iron rod for a spine, fists jammed in his coat pockets; Sousuke back up against a dying pine tree, overwhelmed by his promises that no one would see if they were careful, quiet. Nope, nothing but lungs that sounded like a flooded engine and a headful of static. Sighing, Rin turned on the radio and drifted off to some crap morning talkshow lambasting a vandalism attempt on the observatory in Coonabarabran, blanketed under the manjuu's unwavering gaze.

The next time he was conscious, it was well past eight at night. A flurry of texts from Mikhail offering to bring him medicine, dinner, muscle mags. One text from Alan, of all people, wishing him to get better soon (and that he was still sorry about the wrist). Assorted social media notifications that he couldn't bother to check. Nothing from Sousuke.

Everything ached, but he dredged himself from the covers in search of sustenance. The closer he got to the kitchen, the more clearly a savoury smell wound through his clogged nostrils. Right, he never turned off his rice cooker's preprogrammed routine. Made sense. Except he hadn't put any rice in either. He called Mikhail's name, figuring that he'd convinced the landlord to let him in, but there was no response. He went to turn off the cooker and paused. Not set to white rice, but okayu. A setting he’d never used.

His sink was full too, soaking his cutting board and an assortment of cookware that hadn't been dirty yesterday. Souman sat on the sink edge with a proud, content look on his face. Rin blinked. Souman blinked.

Perhaps a ride to an emergency clinic was in order.

The manjuu rolled along the counter, bringing his attention to a cup of water and a box of almost expired effervescent cold tablets from somewhere or other. Rin dutifully plunked the tablets in, watched them fizz nuclear orange, and slung it back in one go, figuring the hallucination would go away once he got meds in his system. He waited. The hallucination did not go. He double-checked the expiration date.

Souman nuzzled up against his hand, then bumped against the rice cooker, goading him to open it. Might as well see if the hallucination friend made him hallucination dinner. Steam blossomed out, curling the scent of miso around his sweating face. He dipped his finger in, confirming it was real. Nothing left to do but accept this new reality for what it was.

"You made this for me?"

Souman spun in delight.

—

Sickness passed, as things do. His wrist was back in fighting shape, his times were recovering, and all that remained of that draining fortnight was a slight cough and Souman's newfound sentience.

Every test Rin could think to throw at him, he did. The manjuu was boneless for sure and appeared to lack any other kind of formal internal structure. He was incapable of producing anything resembling human speech, but understood it and employed a suite of coos, purrs, and chirps to get his gist across. Food appeared unnecessary, although he enjoyed it. Where the food went was a giant question mark, as he had no discernible excretory orifice and Rin hadn’t caught him yarping up pellets behind the couch. He was male, as far as Rin had been able to question in that direction, though his genitals were as mysterious as his GI tract. Squishing, pulling, piercing, burning, cutting, and sitting on him harmed nothing but Rin’s conscience. He could read English and Japanese and probably more. He maintained a consistent 38°C. He submitted to every test without complaint and wanted no reward except headpats and bellyrubs. It was an alien, plain as.

Souman nudged him the drained cans of tuna and Rin dumped them into his mixing bowl, chased them with the soy sauce and toasted sesame oil that had been measured out for him while he was chopping veg. A proper manufacturing line they were, cranking out his weekly lunches and snacks in record time, with zero commentary about how his counterspace should be better organized, how he was allegedly over/underseasoning each dish, how he should slice things more evenly. Who cared if the peppers weren’t the exact same size, he was eating for nutrition, not looks.

 _ **It'd be easier if you did it the way I told you.**_ _Works fine as is._ _ **You can't put raw meat next to stuff that's going to be eaten uncooked, let me just...**_ _Not like I'm going to smear chicken breasts on my cukes._ _ **Not saying you are, but the juices—**_ _Are going places you never dreamed if you keep pushing me. Didn't Aunty teach you not to argue with guys holding knives?_ _ **Stab me if you want, I'm moving this.**_ _Fuck off, it's my kitchen!_ _**Mise en place** **!**_ _I don't speak French!_

The phone rang. Sousuke. Rin let it ring a couple times. Let him stew a little for once.

“Hey.”

It was divine revelation, turning his innards to despicable molten goop. It was such a dumb, girly thing to feel, even if it had been nearly a month since he'd last heard Sousuke's voice. He'd gone years without saying two words to him, a few weeks shouldn't matter.

“Hey, asshole." _Please don't sound too excited._ "Check this out.” He held his phone to the bowl and blitzed the tuna salad half past death. “That’s the sound of success.”

“I really don’t want to think about food right now.” There, that familiar creak of Sousuke's bed as he laid out with his usual old-man grunt.

“That’s a first. Tough times in the restaurant biz?”

“There was some baseball thing going on, we were packed for hours. Cleaning was... You’d think they were toddlers instead of high schoolers.”

“You remember the kind of guys we went to school with, you can’t honestly say you’re that surprised. Ai and his fuckin biohazard room.”

“Yeah.” A long lull. In person, they never bothered Rin, but on the phone they drove him up the wall. They always made him check his phone compulsively to be sure, no, they hadn't disconnected, no, Sousuke hadn't gotten sick of him and hung up.

"Therapy was alright?" Gotta keep the ball going.

“Yeah. My joints are like... creaky though. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Must be that rain coming, eh, Gramps? Tell Kazuma I’m going to kick his ass if he keeps scheduling you full shifts on PT days.”

“Wasn’t a full. I only do part-time on therapy days.”

“Yeah, but he keeps giving you full-time on your other days.”

“Cause I asked for them.”

"Why?"

"Saving money."

"You gonna get those sneakers you were showing me?"

"Something like that."

Rin flicked Souman an almond to get him to quit nibbling his hand. "Here, you little bastard."

“Here what?”

"Not you, I got... a pet." Phone wasn’t the ideal vector for explaining he was now in possession of an alien.

"A cat? How bad's he mauled you?"

"Not all cats hate me. It’s only Steve who's got beef."

"If you say so."

"I do.” Rin loaded his meals into the fridge and launched himself into the couch’s embrace, toying with the drawstring of his trackies. “What're you wearing?"

"Shorts. Underwear. A sock."

"Sounds overdressed. You should fix that."

Sousuke sighed the same way as when he invited him on morning runs. "I'm tired. If you wanna do that, I'll call you this weekend."

More promises he wouldn’t keep, his favourite. "You're not usually this tired on half-days. You getting sick?"

"I'm not sick, I had to work at the supermarket too. We got a big shipment in today but some punkass kids stole our hand trucks so I had to do a lot more lifting than usual."

"Since when do you work at the supermarket?"

"I thought I told you."

"You didn't. Why are you doing two jobs now?"

"Because I want to."

"Are you still swimming on top of that?"

"Obviously."

"You're not going to get back to your old condition if you're not resting properly. Dr Tanaka told you that like eighty fucking times."

Another sigh. Fuck him for not wanting his arm to snap off, right? “I don't want to argue about this."

"I'm not arguing, I'm trying to figure out what the problem is."

"There isn't one."

"Yeah, okay, bud. You can't go to the Olympics if you're working full time. What happened? Do you need another surgery?"

"I'm fine. Everything's fine. Right now I'm tired and I have to get up early, so I'm calling it quits. We'll save the debauchery for this weekend."

"You said you were working this weekend." He had the texts to prove it.

"I'll call you. I promise."

"When? At least give me a time window so we're not trying to get nasty while I'm at the grocery store."

"Figured you'd be into that."

"Seriously, when?"

"I'll text you."

"You'd better. And I want video this time! You always get embarrassed about talking dirty, so at least let me see you."

"You wouldn’t be so gung-ho about talking about _sucking dick_ if you were at your mom’s house.”

"If I was at my mom's we'd let our bodies do the talking for us."

A colossal sigh, the sigh of a dying world. "I thought you said your internet sucked."

"It does, but I still want to try. I miss seeing you. And your dick."

"Mostly the dick?"

"Mostly. The guy attached to it's not so bad either."

"Look forward to seeing it in 240p."

"240penis."

He couldn't tell if Sousuke was more disgusted with the joke or that he'd kept him on the line this long. "I'll text you, we'll do video, I promise, good night."

"Night." Rin hurriedly added, "Love you."

The line was already dead.

—

"Cockteasing bitch!"

His phone thumped off the pillow, cartwheeled out of bed. He'd cleared his whole weekend for this and not so much as a text. He could've been doing shit, _important_ shit, and he was sitting here waiting for nothing. He’d shaved, got a haircut, new underwear, everything. Even if Sousuke had called him drenched in sweat and curry sauce and read a scholarly text about the history of Iranian architecture through the whole thing, it would've been better than _nothing_.

_When are you calling me?_

**I don't know, I'll figure it out**

That on Friday and now it was Sunday evening and there had been nothing but utter silence. He cancelled on his team's regular "survived another week of training" dinner. He declined sitting in on a group call Makoto had set up with the guys from Iwatobi because he didn't want to go _nvm bf's calling, gotta beat my meat_ and leave in the middle. He obliterated his meticulously crafted schedule and loaded things he'd meant to do atop future days already teetering on collapse. For nothing. For the refusal to respect him enough to tell him that this weekend wasn’t going to work out and that he was sorry. Again. He forgave and forgave and told him to fucking stop promising things he couldn't do and tried to make arrangements that accommodated their schedules and Sousuke would say sorry, try for a week, then go right back on doing it. Sousuke talked about words being cheap, well he sure showed him. This had never been a problem in Japan, Australia shouldn't be any different. He couldn't blame a time zone difference—it was an hour, there were countries that had bigger differences within their own blasted borders.

Rin stared at his phone for ages, writing and rewriting texts he knew better than to send before settling on something that didn't sound needlessly vindictive.

_I know you're busy, you have your own schedule_

_But I'm tired of getting jerked around._

_If doing long distance is too hard, just say so._

_I won't hold it against you._

All quiet on the Sousuke front. If this was it, he didn't know what he would do. He had a Plan. He'd seen their future together—Olympic podiums, exchanging vows, watching the sunset from a modest beachfront house in Iwatobi, planning the upcoming _hanami_ picnic with their son and his children and all their cousins too. He wasn't ready to throw that away. Could they pick back up when he went home?

Souman rolled in with a questioning look. He'd had an explosion of growth the past week, swelling from palmtop size to basketball. Rin scooped him up and dropped into bed.

Maybe he was stupid, thinking a long distance relationship could work. He knew it would be hard, but things being hard had never stopped him trying, for better or worse. Besides, hard things got easier when you had a partner, which he’d thought he had, yet his co-captain for life remained content to foist off the actual work on him. Yeah, you go check the chlorine levels, put out the lane ropes, get the team warmed up, and run practice, I’m gonna relabel the lockers. If anything, Sousuke should be the one putting the lion’s share of effort in. Even with his therapy schedule and the weekly one-on-one coaching sessions, Sousuke wasn’t putting anywhere near as many hours into training as he was. He wasn’t living in a foreign country by himself, fighting the entire world for a chance at glory. All he had to do was get well enough that his rotator cuff wouldn’t shred at the first serious swim and bum around the house helping out his family. A phone call once a week wasn’t that big an ask.

People talked about guys masquerading in relationships to keep up the sex, but if that was the case, Sousuke wouldn't sandbag every move he made. Text something flirty and Sousuke would respond eight hours later with a picture of a boat. Send him a nude and he'd get back _**abs are looking solid, gj.** _ Even in Japan it'd been a problem. Shit-talking over games turned to kissing, to hands under shirts, to sprawling on the floor, but the instant those hands went south, suddenly it's _**we don't have to do that, I just want to be here with you** _ and Rin wanted to know what the hell movie he got that from because that was too damned slick for him.

Come to think of it, he’d looked utterly morose after getting head the first time, like he'd stepped on a puppy. He’d locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour then acted like nothing was wrong when he emerged. Rin figured that despite his years in the city, maybe he was a little bedshy. That was fine. He could live with that. It'd be a cute footnote from the first pages of their relationship. But it was something to get over eventually, and Sousuke never did. Which left him wondering was Sousuke not into sex or not into...?

The thought lunged up, and oh, it'd been a long time coming—Sousuke didn't find him hot. Sousuke didn't find him hot and he was only dating him because dating in Japan was hard and he was convenient and Sousuke was the laziest SOB alive when it came to anything besides swimming and cooking. One time he saw him pick a piece of pizza off the floor with his foot because leaning over to pick it up was _**too much effort**_ , then ate it because _**I dunno, it still looked fine** _ and he _**couldn't think of a reason not to**_.

He was floor pizza.

Rin glanced to his phone. No, don't bother. Asking would be doubly pathetic now and, assuming Sousuke responded at all, he would only say yes to appease him then resume being squeamish about anything more involved than a quick wristy. He wished he could take back the pics he’d sent. _Are you brave enough to open this? I like the fit of this pouch, hbu? When are you getting off?_ Lame, lame, pitiful, hungrythirsty bullshit. No more pics. No more texts. Fuck Sousuke. He wouldn't beg for him or anybody else.

He rippled his fingers across Souman. "Be honest: hot or not?"

The manjuu chattered gleefully, kneading his bare chest. Thank God someone had eyes aside from the randos gassing him up at the gym to try and get a piece. Pretty ripped for a Jap, yeah thanks dickhead, never heard that before. And his accent was cute? Halfway to getting a leg over, promise. Never mind the boyfriend, what he needed was some Real Deal Aussie Sausage.

Something tugged at his jockstrap. He glanced down and there was Souman, nibbling on the waistband.

"Whoa, hey, hey, hey!" Rin flicked him between the eyes and hiked his band back up. "Perv."

Souman pressed under his hand and wrenched his fingers up. Doughy tentacles extended from his body, tugging the jock to his ankles. Before he could protest, they tightened around his knees, hoisting and spreading them so the manjuu could claim the spot between his thighs like it was his God-given right. Souman snuggled against his prick, pleading with those supportive eyes, rumbling in whatever passed for his throat about the inevitable death he would face if he couldn’t get his mouth on this cock. A taste of dick, that’s all. A wee sup. He would ensure he was satisfied from start to finish, be good and swallow, not spit it in the trash like it was poison.

"You know what. Sure. Why not." Nothing wrong with some consolatory masturbation.

The manjuu wriggled and shook with anticipation, besotted beyond words. His little eyes grew huge as Rin stroked up. It was goofy, but he'd take that guileless enthusiasm over guilt and obligation any day. His hardon pulsed in his hand, stiffer than usual. Already there was a drop of pre budding. It was nice, he realized, to have sex with someone who wanted it as bad as you. It was nice to be able to whip your dick out and not feel like a creep. He wasn’t some unrelenting satyr on the hunt for helpless virgin men, he was a normal guy with a normal libido.

Rin let go of his prick and Souman's mouth flared and engulfed him nuts and all. He dropped back with a groan that made his downstairs neighbour shuffle to her kitchenette. It was the rapture of hitting the sweet spot on the shower dial, where all you wanted was to stand there ensconced in a neverending sheet of perfect water, not one degree too hot, not one too cold. No troublesome teeth threatening to nick his meat. No choking hazard. Just pure bliss.

Internal mass ascended his shaft, bubbled over, backspilled down to the base in continuous suction, drawing him out to an exquisite hardness. It didn’t feel numb, rather, it felt deliciously alive, a living weapon with which he could claim ass as he saw fit, and he would reach out this cock, and smite Sousuke with all its wonders. The suction collapsed, replaced with new, ever-shifting patterns. It toyed with his cockhead, slurped at his base, stroked his full length with a pressure that felt like a strong, giving hand. Better than his own hand or the stupid disposable sleeve somebody had snuck into his stack of going-away gifts. Leagues above when Sousuke succumbed to months of badgering and treated him a sloppy, toothy excuse of a BJ he couldn't cum from. He clawed at the manjuu, squashing and shaping it in his hands, stretching the dough out so he could see his cock bulge against its interior. Heat corkscrewed into his throat. This was the kind of treatment he'd only dreamed about. Not that he didn't like frotting or handjobs, he just wanted _more_ sometimes. Wanted to feel Sousuke on his cock, just like this.

A warm, moist mouthlike protrusion scooped out under the chaos and stroked his anus. Rin swore, foot jerking inward, smashing the manjuu into his crack. Rings, letters, punctuation marks tapped out on his rectum by a flickering, untiring tongue and the whole of his prick and balls and ass bled together into a single incoherent pleasure riot and he was lost in his head, desperate to get off, cum knocking up against his cockhole, and Souman responded in kind, frantically working each angle.

"Sou—ah, _Sou_ suke—"

Rin dug his fists in, crushing the manjuu as he arched, blowing the load he'd saved for Sousuke. Not only a weekend’s worth, but the rest of the week’s too, stuck sloshing around his aching, swollen nuts for whenever the call would come, the load he’d cultivated by edging every night, the one that kept him razor-sensitive, provoking coy hardons that threatened sweetly when he was high from a good training session and surrounded by scores of fit, fuckable men with phenomenal legs and tight asses because a hole was a hole was a hole when it came down to it, hardons he confidently rejected because a hole  wasn’t  a hole like how this load  wasn’t  a plain old load, this was the load he was going to beat out on camera and blow so hard he’d cream his own face and prove _this!_ this was how much he wanted him, _this cum is for you, I could give it to anyone but it’s for you, your face, your mouth, your ass, my cum is all yours and the rest of me is too._ His cockhole flexed, spitting rope after rope of thick, sperm-rich cum, relieving the overwhelming weight that had laid on him too long.

Smashed dough mixed and swirled around the cum, incorporating it into its core. Souman pulsed a few times as the last shot waned, then loosed his hold. He rolled off, reinflated his central mass, filled in the finger holes. He fixed his usual contented smile at Rin and began to vibrate. Bubbles pushed to his surface, erupting and collapsing, his hair pattern in a rolling boil. Spherical protrusions swelled all over him, brownish and sand coloured. They crowned, narrowed at the base, and dropped onto the bedspread like tumours cut off from the source. The blobs laid still briefly, then pulsed as hearts did. The headboil reduced to a simmer, slowed, stopped. The blobs rolled upward. Perfect clones of Souman, every one of them, the same size he'd been when Rin took him in. They purred upon seeing their unwitting father and zoomed up to settle on his abs, tickling him with their vibrations.

Souman tucked a pillow under his head and cuddled up to his cheek, then busied himself grooming him, drinking his sweat from toe to head. Another pocket manjuu budded in the process and joined his dozing brothers. Rin's eyes heavied as Souman progressed upward and by the time he reached his torso, he dropped into a long-awaited, satisfied sleep.

—

Wednesday came and Gavin pounced on him in the locker room to give him a fake buggering in celebration of something or other.

"Switched over to Matty's side, have you, Gav?" Alan called, lobbing his goggles into his locker.

"What?" Gavin drawled.

"Matty's gay, shitcunt, remember?"

"Aw, true. Well, could do worse." Gavin let him go with a swat on the ass. "Wouldn’t fight his boytoy for him though, he’s a tough cunt. He’d judo-kick me spine in half.”

“Speaking of, you have fun this weekend, Matty? Worth skipping dinner with the boys?”

"Yeah, it was heaps good," Rin responded on reflex.

They hooted like a pair of gibbons.

"Heaps good! What a fuckin legend! A whole ocean won't stop him from getting his piece, boys!" Gavin swigged his protein shake. "Fuck, I wish I had a girlfriend! D'you know how lucky you are? And he's an athlete too, so he's never nagging on your schedule cuz he gets it."

"Yea, that's the worst part about dating normal girls. They're always asking why you've got no time for them and I'm like, sorry, I'm trying to go international. You said he was retired, ay? Blew his shoulder."

"He's in PT, trying to get back into the scene."

"Did rehab for me leg in Year 11, couldn't do shit. Bored outta me fuckin skull. I bet he's creeping in your DMs between sessions all the time."

Rin turned his full attention to his locker combo so as not to betray his wince. "Well, he works too, but I won't say he doesn't."

They hooted again and left the locker room, promising they'd go for Italian later. Rin wedged his head into his locker with a sigh. Still nothing from Sousuke. The situation had gone from aggravating to depressing. He thought Sousuke had been putting it off because he didn't want to get an earful, but Sousuke knew him well enough to know he would've cooled down by now. Maybe he'd gotten in an accident. Run over by that perpetually speeding old coot Takeuchi. Broke both his hands. That was better. It wasn't that he didn't want to call him, it was that he was laid up in bed, unable to. He'd waver in from the drug-fog, shrinking from the searing talons of the fluorescent lamps, gaze in despair at the double arm casts, then heave his eyes towards his phone which his mum had thoughtlessly left for him, murmur, _Rin..._ and conk straight out.

God he was going to make himself cry. He didn't want Sousuke to be fucked up, even for his ego's sake.

Today's manjuu stretched out of his jeans' pocket, dot eyes furrowed in concern. Rin assured him that it was alright and went rooting for his post-workout shake. No good. He flashed back to last night, shaking his mix to perfection, putting it in the fridge... leaving it there come morning.

He thumped his head against the locker door. "I just can't win."

The manjuu studied his stomach, already roaring for its regular dose of protein, carbs, and BCAAs, and lunged. It smothered his mouth whole, and out came the tentacle. Rin strained his lips around it, tearing chunks into the dough that healed the instant his fingers moved, but the manjuu shoved past his teeth and ejected a noxious sweet paste. He swallowed on reflex, gagging as it clumped in his throat. What little oxygen his brain had left raged, _should've left the stupid manjuu on his doorstep no such thing as a good alien_! He retched, eyes watering, tongue pulsing uselessly against the roof of his mouth. He retched again and the manjuu detached from his jaw and crowded inside his mouth. It situated itself on his tongue, then slithered into his throat, pushing the paste along with it. His hair prickled as the manjuu slid down his esophagus, distending the flesh of his neck with a grotesque mobile lump. Another swallow, one fist pounding his chest, the other prodding the lump with his knuckles, both trying to expedite the journey. The manjuu plunked into his stomach and Rin took the best breath of his life.

Figuring there was nothing else to do but bring it back up, he staggered to the stalls. The manjuu sloshed to and fro, driving an astringent wave into his throat that rose gagging hiccoughs, sour belches. Acid fire took hold in his muscles, skewing his legs into unwieldy posts, desperately stumping towards futile salvation. The instant the lock slid into place an almighty nausea struck. The toilet hazed before him, doubled. Sweat broke out over his face and syrupy, hot, “about-to-puke” drool gushed into his mouth. He let out a low, wretched moan as the burning intensified, swelling around his joints, redoubling along his bones. Worse than a fever. DOMS from hell. Individual fibres tearing and reforming stronger, endless slobber pouring from his mouth, gluing his hair to his cheeks. Everything was heavy, every limb lead and trembling, his already prominent veins cabling brighter against his skin, pumping the fever throughout his body. He could see himself growing, muscles swelling against his skin. Legskins tightening against his ripening thighs and calves. Abs solidifying. Fat staying where it needed to float, but fortifying everywhere that benefited most. His undercarriage steamed, asscheeks wobbling and slipping against one another. Unable to stand even this bit of clothing, he mindlessly tugged his legskins down and a cascade of stinking sweat splattered the floor. His dick had taken on an intense red hue, and there was growth there too, filling out the soft tissues. His knees buckled as something swirled in his nuts, pumping them up to proportions well at home in an egg carton. Through the fog of agony, he thought of Sousuke, how good it would be to feel his newly embiggened sack slapping against his ass, stuffing him over and over with cream, breeding his hole so thoroughly that it would never leave, make him spit and shit cum for the rest of his life.

The fever broke, leaving a swirling ache in his bladder. Panting, he hobbled to the toilet and let his prick hang over the bowl. Nothing came. Then, slowly, movement. Something was inching through his urinary tract. It spiralled in the base of his bladder, descended. Spots burst over his vision. He slumped against the wall, smearing it with rank sweat. There it was, that feeling he'd only experienced with toys. Prostate stim. Except this wasn't furtive touch and go with a stainless steel plaything, the thing was _inside_ it. As if noting his response, it pumped back and forth between his bladder and prostate and he for a second, he thought he'd been stabbed. He had to piss worse than he ever had in his life, worse than as a kid, worse than after the soda-chugging contest at Samezuka, every nerve firing at once screaming _PISS, PISS NOW!!_ Each time the entity moved, the knife twisted, letting dribbles slip out. He tried clenching his pelvic muscles, but kept on dripping.

“Mmmfuckkkk...”

His head ground against the wall. The toilet, within hand's reach, yet so far. Conveying his dick back over the water was impossible. Take one step and he'd piss himself. Try to straighten up and twist himself into a more amenable position to get it into the bowl and he'd piss himself. Breathed too deep? Piss. All paths ended in piss. But he still had his pride. Wincing, he decided to chance it, shifted—and the mass reared back and smashed his bladder. Piss blasted out in a breathstealing gush, soaking his waterlogged legskins, spattering against the bowl’s exterior, puddling between his bare toes and even when he was empty, he was still busting for another piss because the damned thing in his bladder wouldn’t leave him be.

The mass shifted down through the rest of his urethra, yielding its grounds in his bladder to set root in his prostate. It pumped and shifted shapes, now nubbly, now beaded, now ribbed. Rin drove his fist into his mouth. His cock stiffened to a furious red and swayed between his shaking thighs. Didn't think it could feel so good, something fucking his dick from the inside.

"Nngah, fuck—"

Cum rushed up and the stirring went wild, gobbling it as it came, ensuring not a drop escaped. Instead, a tan, doughy blob welled from his dickhole. It crowned, trembled, steadied, then tumbled from his head, bouncing on the polished concrete floor and ricocheting off the toilet before rolling to a halt at his feet. Before he could process it, another welled and one by one, a dozen blobs followed and rolled around, absorbing the mix of water and piss coating the floor. When nothing else stirred, tiny, chattering manjuu pearls congregated at this feet, all pleased to see him.

Freed, Rin took a cleansing breath and stood. Nothing hurt anymore. Everything moved easily. He flexed his ankles, inward, outward, twist. Even better than after running through his usual mobs. He dug his finger into his mouth and scraped out the remnants of the paste, whitish goop that had a faint smell of sugar. The hunger that had prompted the attack had completely subsided. In fact, he felt like he'd finished a perfect meal. He looked over himself, his new bulk, his new legion of adoring buns.

"How about a warning next time? God, if I get accused of doping... I'm so fucked." Even roids couldn't bulk a guy up this quickly.

The pearls looked sheepish and chirped apology. Freak growth spurt. That's what he would call it. Two, two and a half kilos wasn't _that_ noticeable was it? He had a reputation among his teammates for being tight-laced, so roids would be unthinkable. Everybody would think they just forgot what he looked like. Worst case, Mikhail might say something, but it wasn't like he could prove anything. Not ideal, but not the end of the world, and as far as he was concerned, a little extra meat never hurt. When he got back to his flat he'd be pulling sicknasty most musculars in his mirror for an hour at least. God, he could imagine the look on Sousuke's face when he... Right. Well, sulking over it wouldn't accomplish anything, and he had to get the baby manjuu back home before training resumed. He wrung his pissed skins out over the toilet and headed for a second shower.

—

He needed to be asleep now so he could be up at five, so he could be at practice at six and here he was watching sad movies at midnight. He didn't even know what he'd put on, he just needed to hear someone's voice. Manjuu lounged around the flat as they saw fit, a few of the littlest ones clustered around the TV to bask in the glow of melodrama. He swayed his knee back and forth, watching a pair of lovers parting at the train station, got restless, laid out on the couch. Laying down got old quick too, so he sat back up and futzed with his phone, accepting the blue light blasting into his retinas would do him no good.

He scrolled through his camera roll, lingered on a photo of Sousuke in the Matsuoka family kitchen with a basket of sea urchins from the market. Rin figured it was a ploy to impress him and teased him relentlessly all the way home, but it turned out Sousuke did know what he was doing. To him, Sousuke's cooking had always been huge cleavers rumbling across a chopping block, hissing woks tossing up waves of meat and veg, boiling pots with a bazaar's worth of spice. It was strange to see his hands to move with this delicacy, chopsticks picking out everything unwanted, transporting the fragile roe to a bowl to wait. He'd tried doing one himself. The crunchier stuff he could manage. Cracking the spiny exterior, opening it up enough to get at the vitals, but when it came to the key point—extracting the victuals from the viscera—he got impatient and spoiled it. They gave the messed up roe to Steve and split the rest and when Sousuke kissed him goodnight, that gentle sweetness lingered on his tongue.

He backed out of the photos, opened his voicemails. There was only one, dated a week after he moved back to Australia.

— _ **Hey, it's me. Uh... This isn't an emergency or anything, so you don't have to call me back right away. I was... I dunno... just thinking of you, I guess. Okay. Uh... I guess that's it. Bye.**_

He replayed it on speaker, arm folded across his face. God, he was so fuckin lame. He imagined Kisumi probing him about it years from now, asking, **Wow, how'd you get over him? You were childhood friends and everything!** and the answer was simple: _I didn't._ Already he could see the scolding web articles. Oneitis was the greatest dating fallacy a man could fall into. If he respected himself, he would pluck out that thorn, set it ablaze, and never look back. Dick was cheap and plentiful and it was mathematically impossible for there to not be at least a hundred guys as good as him (or better) waiting to be found. But he didn't want those guys. He wanted his guy.

Something nudged his hip. He swiped at his eyes and lifted his arm. "Hey."

In the time since they'd first slept together, Souman had quadrupled in size, rendering him about as large as a beanbag chair and a good deal heftier. He took the phone and set it aside, then lifted Rin from the couch and advanced towards the bedroom, ordering the little manjuu to turn the TV off. Arms in perpetual motion surrounded Rin, laying him in bed, setting the alarm, tucking the covers up around his shoulder. Souman climbed in after, stretching himself into a shape more akin to a body pillow. A small arm swept the hair from his face, curved over his cheek. Souman purred at him and was right. He wasn't helping anyone acting like this, least of all himself. There were more pressing things he needed to focus on. He hadn't spent years grinding his way to the top to ruin his training for somebody else.

"Thanks," he said, pressing his lips to what he chose to believe was a forehead.

—

Life without Sousuke was strange. No good morning or good evening text. No calls comparing training menus, meal plans, or stacks drifting into memories of playing at the docks. No ragging on each other for how many times they'd ate pavement when learning how to skate (and Sousuke's abrupt exodus from the sport due to his refusal to get over busting himself in the nuts practising nollies) or the million other memories that flickered in and out of prominence. It wasn't the same separation from middle school. Friendships, even good ones, were prone to drifting when distance became involved. Being a couple, both committed to keeping things going, should have made their bond impervious. That was the way he saw it. _No matter where you are, no matter the distance, you'll always be with me_ , Rin told him and Sousuke had called him embarrassing and told him to get on the plane. And maybe it was embarrassing, but he had believed that, truly.

His whisk stalled in the vinaigrette. It had been five weeks since Sousuke had missed their call and not a single word had passed between them. At first he figured he'd been pushing him too hard, he needed space. The planned five day rest turned to seven turned to eleven, and he started wondering how much space Sousuke needed. Mom had been a peach, assuring him that no, Sousuke hadn't been in a tragic accident, and that while distance did make things more difficult, the love beneath could carry that weight if they let it. He'd thanked her, not meaning it, knowing there was no one to shoulder this burden but himself.

A weight against his back broke his ruminations. Souman leaned closer, two arms wrapped around his waist, another dipping into the mixing bowl to taste the vinaigrette. He beamed in approval, rubbing his face against Rin's shoulder and squeezing him tight. Rin patted his tentacle, smiling in spite of himself.

"You big goof. We've still got to set the table."

Souman flexed his tentacles and began transferring tableware from the drying rack to their usual places.

"You all hear that? Let's get it together!"

Chirrups resounded across the flat. In the sink, a medium manjuu gleefully hammered on the salad spinner button; another gathered the dirty dishes; a third reached into the fridge for the pitcher of homemade oral rehydration solution Rin discovered they enjoyed. Baby manjuu lobbed baby tomatoes into the salad bowl, hoisted a serving spoon onto the counter for the curried red lentils, and dragged out the oven mitt in preparation for the chicken's impending completion.

No, he decided, pelting the salad with red onions and dressing, that wasn't right. There had been somebody to ease the load.

"Fare's $30.52, mate."

Sousuke paid it out and stared at the flaking leather seat before him, stomach clenching.

"What's the matter? Not sick, are you?"

"No, I'm fine." He wiped his sweating palms on his shorts and exited the cab.

The building cut across the skyline in the same stark profile it had the first time he'd visited Rin's flat. He held the door for a woman bringing in her groceries and slipped in after.

He didn't know how things had gotten this bad. Everything seemed fine. They were both doing their own thing, keeping in touch when they could, then Rin didn't love him anymore. Sure, he'd fucked up by not being able to slot that call into his schedule, but that had never been an issue before. Rin would get salty and bitch him out for a while, then it'd be done and dusted with the rest of their interpersonal faux pas. It had been five weeks since he missed their call and Rin hadn't said a word. The elevator hit the correct floor. He took it back to ground, then hit the button for Rin's floor again. He didn't see what the problem was. Missing a bout of phone sex wasn't that big of a deal. There was nothing stopping Rin from being horny on his own time and the last time he'd been back in Japan, they'd staged an entire nude photo shoot in his bedroom, with good lighting and everything. Rin had pictures of every piece of him at every angle, he wasn't wanting for exposure.

 _**Are we done? You're not even doing dick pics anymore.** _ _Nah, nah, your dick doesn't have to be in this one, cause when I'm sitting on you like this, it looks like I'm riding you, see?_ _**You said this was going to take twenty minutes. I'm hungry.** _ _Just let me take a few more, then I'll get you whatever you want. Look how good it turned out. Now take one from your angle so we match._ _**Rin, I am** _ _ **dying**_ _ **. I'm dying and I'm having Mom put that in the funerary announcement, that you killed me by taking too many nudes.** _ _That's the price you pay for being sexy, stupid._

He hit the button for the ground floor again. It didn't make sense. Rin hadn't blocked him on anything but he couldn't figure out what to say, if he should say anything at all. It was always Rin that gave him the sign to move. He hated, hated these serious, capital-F Fights. With a girl you could give her flowers or chocolate or a watermelon or whatever and she would get over it. Dad had said, in his well-meaning way, well Rin was the girl of the relationship wasn't he, it couldn't be that different. He had no idea how to impress on him that it was. Plus he didn't want Dad to get the idea he might be the girl. There was no way he could stand living in the same house if he started treating him the way he treated Rin now. It wasn't malicious, just clueless. A product of his generation. That had caused a Fight too, one that had been suspended instead of resolved. God, what if he brought that up. Two Fights at once was impossible. He hit all the buttons and slouched in the back corner.

Kazuma and his mom didn't really get it either, but they listened when he did try talking about it, said he was an idiot and that he should apologize, so here he was. Apologizing. (He didn't think they meant going to Australia, but text seemed improper at this point.)

He flicked back through their text logs to confirm Rin's flat number and stepped out into the hall. He adjusted his duffel bag, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Yeah, coming!"

His heart choked. Steady footprints approached, then a long pause. The door flew open.

Everything he'd thought, planned, fell out of his head. "Uh."

Rin looked incredible. He'd put on mass since he'd last seen him, four or five kilograms. Sousuke had put on about as much, although the wrong kind, brought on by haphazard snacking at the train station on his way to and from PT sessions and eating his way through the whole menu at the restaurant. At the time it made sense. He was busy, he'd earned it, it was simpler than cooking himself separate meals, as long as he hit his macros, it didn't matter what he ate and he trained hard enough to offset it anyway. Whatever lie was most convenient in the moment. When the number started ticking up on his scale, he thought it was water weight at first, then an error, but when he threw that one away, its replacement confirmed its conclusions. Even though his growing gut wasn't that noticeable under his baggy shirt and jersey, his malfeasance would be apparent the instant Rin touched him and torpedo his chances worse than anything else.

Rin glanced out into the hall. "Just you?"

"Yeah."

"You... coming in?" He didn't sound as if he wanted him to say yes.

Not trusting himself, Sousuke nodded and entered. Bizarre spheroids faced him in unison. They were everywhere. Lounging on the couch, cluttering the counters, roosting atop the microwave, zooming around the living room in informal races, hanging from the ceiling in long garlic rope clusters. Countless pastel eyes scrutinized him and as he stared back, he realized they shared his own face, chibified. Unimpressed, they resumed gallivanting. Only the gargantuan giga-sphere in the kitchen hulked forward, a scowl distorting its adorable face. It wrapped an arm around Rin's thigh, dared him to say something.

"These are the manjuu," Rin said, as if that explained anything. "They don't bite."

"Cool."

"What are you doing here?"

A doughy stare pierced from below. "Can we talk somewhere more private?"

"Souman, keep an eye on the chicken for me. This shouldn't take long."

They moved to Rin's bedroom. Rin waited for him to start.

Every part of him supposed to furnish an explanation failed. Words jumbled into nonsense. His useless tongue stuck to his idiot lips, awakening a powerful longing for lip balm (he never remembered to pack his own, always borrowed Rin's— _Seriously? That's fuckin gross, I don't want your mouth germs._ _**You like my mouth germs when I give em to you directly. Here, I'll prove it.** _ _Just take it, jackass. You're gonna give old lady Hasegawa a heart attack)_.

He didn't know what exactly he expected when he envisioned his grand scheme. No, that wasn't true. He'd show up to an unlocked door and a flat heaped with trash mountains and laundry seas, chlorine-stinking skins mildewing atop the bathroom door, curtains drawn on the unrelenting abuse of the Aussie sun, TV rolling through a six-disc DVD changer of feelbad favourites, and in the centre of it all, Rin sprawled in theatrical torpor on the couch, surrounded by a hurricane of dirty tissues and festering takeout containers, uncombed, unkempt, unwashed, eyes cried red and underscored insomnia black and Sousuke would walk up silently and watch a few seconds of _Possession_ , which Rin always said he never wanted to watch again but made a liar of himself by doing it every couple years anyway, then step into view and Rin would stare at him, unsure if he was real, then cry though he had cried every last tear and forgive him like he always did and Sousuke would sweep his snot-crusted hair from his cheeks, not minding that his body smelled like the seat of a prison weight bench and his breath a broken sewage pipe, and kiss him better, back into loving him all over again.

He didn't expect he'd be happy.

Without him.

"I don't have any business imposing on you, but I know I upset you and I wanted to apologize." Excruciating silence. "I do want to be with you. I want to make this work."

"Okay."

He couldn't bring himself to grovel more than that. "I didn't think my schedule would bother you that much."

"It didn't bother me when you weren't running yourself into the dirt for no fucking reason."

"It's not for no reason! It was supposed to be a surprise. I, ah..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been looking at places for us to live. For when you come back."

"You what?"

"I wanted to be sure I had enough for key money and the deposit and all that, but, y'know. Tokyo's expensive."

Rin gaped.

"I found some good ones. There's one a couple blocks from a gym and another in Haru's building that's right across the street from a pool and a few that aren't anything special, but they're close to the train station and they already said they're okay with guys... living together. I was going to show them to you during winter break."

"You were trying to—" Rin shoved him. "That's not a surprise! Moving in together is a major life decision, idiot!"

He'd sound more convincing if he wasn't about to explode from joy. "But do you want to?"

"You've been pissing me off with this Invisible Man shit. But, hypothetically speaking, if I did, I'd be paying for it too. So quit the supermarket. I'm not having you fuck over your shoulder again for nothing."

He hadn't thought about that. "Oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?" Rin shoved him again, then threw his arms around him. "I don't want you stocking beer at 7-Eleven. I want you on the podium beside me. It's been over a month you fucking asshole I can't believe you," and the rest of what he said got smothered in Sousuke's mouth and this part, at least, went the way he imagined.

His mouth drifted from Rin's lips to his cheekbone. "Somehow you're more embarrassing every time I see you."

"Shaddup." Rin wiped his nose on his shirt in vengeance. "That's some balls you've got, thinking anybody would put up with getting ghosted like that."

"I didn't mean..." The thought refused to be finished.

"I know." Rin's hands circled on his back, filling him with a childish giddiness. "But for fuck's sake, you could've just apologized."

"Sorry."

"You owe me." Rin drew closer. "Big time."

The door swung open and Souman rolled in and garbled something indecipherable.

"You hungry?"

“So you cook now.”

"Yeah, but you're still making me breakfast. Gotta get you trained for when we have our own place." Rin cracked an invisible whip at him. "I want ham, eggs, and you in nothing but an apron."

"My poor buns. What're you gonna do if they get hot oil on them?"

"They won't. I'll be right behind you, guarding them." Rin reached out to give a demo but the grumbling manjuu shepherded him towards the kitchen, bumping insistently at his rear. "Chill, dude, I'm going."

As Rin pulled out extra tableware, asking did he want chopsticks or a fork, Souman paused, glowered at Sousuke, and tumbled on.

"Rin!"

"What?" His voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

"Are you shaving?"

"You got a problem with that?"

"At the rate you're going, I'll be back on the plane before you finish."

"You aren't gonna make it to the plane if you keep complaining."

Sousuke toyed with his cock through his trunks, sinking into the beaten pillow. Over dinner, they'd outlined tentative plans for the future and Rin had been his usual ebullient self. Bare toes tickled along the inseam of his cargo shorts, one hand claimed his hostage halfway through the meal, and it was all he could possibly want. They didn't have to play around with this push-pull of who-texted-first or when should they call. Rin was back and Sousuke gladly surrendered the lead. Relationships were Rin's thing. Whatever made him happy was fine.

Rin appeared in the doorway, stripped down to a black and grey jockstrap and a grin as wide as the sea. "Is his highness satisfied?"

Sousuke appraised the tightly corded muscle that drove his savage swimming. "Maybe I like you better unshaved. Ever think of that?"

"What, that's your fetish?"

Sousuke glanced away, then cringed at the stupidity of doing so. Might as well fess up. "Everybody sees you in the locker room, but you're always shaved. So seeing you not like that is... it's a part of you nobody else gets to see."

Rin slunk into bed, squishing Sousuke's face between his hands. "So that's what you want. My special pubes, just for you."

He didn't have to phrase it like that. "Yeah."

"I'll think about it for off-season. Grow em extra long and curly."

A throaty, shot-bear groan slid out of him unchecked. Already he could imagine it, the careless flash of red spied while freeballing in running shorts, the soft crush of hair under his hand, the nose-stinging musk clinging to it after a long workout that would otherwise dissipate into his gear.

"What other kinks have you been hiding?"

"Nothing," he muttered, trying to pull away, but Rin gave him that look that cut his heart without fail. He sighed. "Pits have always been a thing for me."

"Should've said something about it."

"Didn't think you be interested." _**Didn't want you to laugh at me**_ **.**

"You know I'm always game to try new things. Tell me more."

"I was thinking about you the other day," he said, letting his head sink into Rin's grip.

"Yeah?"

"We went out to eat after hitting the gym and you were wearing this tight black tanktop. The showers were broke so you were still sweaty and pumped and you kept stretching your arms out and every time you stretched, you'd flash these big strips of pit hair. It felt so dirty, you baring them like that. It really turned me on. Like, a _lot_. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Kazu kept yelling at me for slowing down dinner service."

His cock strained against his trunks at the reminder. Sweaty, hairy red pits from a man he could call his own. He felt Rin scratch at the hem of his leg hole, teasing it up his thigh. Bit by bit, his swollen dick came into view, drooling in anticipation.

"So you like how they look or smell or...?" His fingertip electric on his cockhead, circling, promising more.

"I dunno. All of it, I guess."

They hung there a moment, the idle finger on his cock, that crooked smile promising evil on him. Rin pounced. They grappled on the mattress, elbows swinging, narrowly missing bloodied noses, and in the end, Sousuke wound up on his back, face jammed into Rin's pit. It was baby-smooth and smelled of fresh deodorant. Muscles tensed against the sides of his head, crushing him closer. His nose burned against the pit, relishing that particular obscure blend of scents deodorant manufacturers called masculine. With a little effort, he could free up his mouth and get breath there, but he enjoyed that brainfloating dizziness of oxygen deprivation, the kind that got him hazy at the end of a 1500m. Must've been that tinge of masochism in every serious athlete.

"Imagine how good it'll be once the hair grows in. Blowing your load on all that sweaty pit hair..."

"Mmmmf!" Sousuke squirmed, heels digging ruts in the sheets. His dick ached to bursting. Dying here, head smashed like a nut in a cracker, wouldn't be so bad.

"Oh, you _like_ that. Fuckin punk. You could've been worshipping my pits all this time, but you chose to be stubborn. That's what you want, right? You wanna be on your knees for me." Rin's stubby nails scraped gently across his scalp, felt out the thickest patch of hair—seized. "You must. Look how hard you are."

The arm tightened and a tear crested down his cheek as he gasped for breath. He grabbed at Rin's shoulder, moaning his name.

"Who's the crybaby now? That's what you _get_ ," Rin growled, flexing harder, "for ignoring me." The fist in his hair twisted. "That's all I've been thinking about the past couple weeks. You, crying on your knees for me."

Sousuke reluctantly wrenched his mouth free. "I know you're having fun, but I am dangerously," he winced at his quavering voice, "close right now."

"Already?" It was the scrunched nose that hurt most, the scent of his patheticness foul before him.

"It's been a while."

Rin dropped back on his pillow, hands crossed behind his head so he could get a good long look at his armpits. "Poor you. Must be hard, being helpless before my awesome pits."

He crooked his head to the side, fox-grinning, and licked a stripe up the inside of his pit. Sousuke bit the inside of his mouth, stuffing down the urge to replace Rin's tongue with his own and spend a good long while scraping out that deodorant of his.

"Not helping."

Rin upstretched his arms and gathered him close, breath lagging out as he settled into place. This was better. Move the focus to Rin, not the hair-trigger imposed on him by his fetish. Keep it simple, failure-proof. He reached down and pumped Rin's cock a few times—there, that was it, that little twist of the hips Rin did whenever his hands started moving south. As long as he made Rin cum, he could get through this with minimum embarrassment.

"Missed you," Rin murmured.

He grunted. It was one of his small joys, that he could retreat back into a simple noise and not be expected to elaborate further. Silence provoked insult, so a grunt was best, it heard the point and addressed it, albeit vaguely. It was his best shield to guard his inner living self from hands that would pry and poke it to pieces, gather it up like organ meat in the hands of old ladies in the market to be scrutinized further. A substitute for things too embarrassing to say out loud.

"Don't start that. Remember the time I caught that big-ass sea bream and when I showed it to you, it smacked you in the head and you cried?"

There went Rin, catching it by the rim, swatting it to the dirt, insisting he impale himself on his sword. He forgot sometimes, they bore the same shields. "I didn't."

"You totally did." Rin laughed. "You cried so fucking hard. Yamazaki Sousuke, one of the top ten butterfly swimmers in all of Japan, beaten up by a fish."

"It had spines. And I was eight."

"Doesn't matter. You'll never be as cool to me as you want to be." Rin pressed their foreheads together. "Admit it, you missed me."

"You talk too much." Diversion, a smaller alternative, one he accepted more readily.

The cold bite of mouthwash trailed in the thread of saliva connecting them. "Hypocrite. You’re the one who starts rambling about biomechanics when I try to give you a tug. I'd think your dick didn't work if I hadn't sucked it."

"Not everything has to be about sex."

"Some of it does." Rin tugged at his shirt. "Take it off. You're gonna get cum on it."

Assuming he came, though there was no way in hell Rin would stop til he squeezed one out. His ego always got caught up in it. Another day, maybe he'd let it slide, but tonight Rin would suck him raw to spare himself the insult. "Don't care."

Rin yanked it up to his shoulders, revealing that hateful softness that had accrued on his stomach, turning his abs into a suggestion rather than a statement.

"Now what’s this?" He pinched it, trying to get a lock on how much his fat percentage had gone up. "You can't win with this much drag."

He knew it was only teasing, but Rin might as well have gutted him and worn his small intestine as a crown. Grunting, he tugged his shirt down and considered quitting the bed for a late-night walk.

"Don't be a brat. You know what condition you need to be in. I'll let you fuck my pits if you lose the weight. Deal?" Rin tried for his shirt again, failed. "Oh, stop. You're still cute."

Cute. Not sexy or hot, the way he'd been before, but cute, AKA _not my type but I'll smash because I don't have a better option on hand._ His hard-on flagged, growing softer, cuter.

He resisted a third attack on his shirt and pinned Rin to the mattress, pressing his insatiable hands over his head to drive the point home. Rin chuckled, tongue flickering against the back of his teeth. He hated that tongue, saying "if" and not "when" when it talked about him losing weight, like his gain was an irrevocable disciplinary collapse. He crushed it with his own, squeezing his wrists to give back some of that hurt, but Rin only laughed more, tilting his head a little to put that poisonous tongue deeper. A few exchanges later, freehand roaming was allowed to resume.

Between soft, panting breaths and the wet smack of connections breaking, rejoining, a hand curved down the small of his back. It settled on the crest of his ass, pressing him closer, deeper into the ensnaring legs. Another hand joined its brother, stroking, smoothing over the flesh, and spread his cheeks, exposing his anus to the cool air. Fingers ghosted over the pucker. He tried ignoring them, but they wouldn't quit. Rin's mouth migrated along his jawline, settled on his ear.

"I wanna fuck you."

This shit again. "We're not doing this right now."

The finger on his anus pushed harder to spite him. “You owe me.”

“Not that.”

Rin faced him head on, dropping the suave act. "Why are you so scared of anal?"

"I'm not scared." Every time, they had to rehash this stupid fucking conversation every single fucking time.

"Okay, whatever, call it worried if that makes you feel better, but I'm prepared for that. I've done everything I can to make sure it'll be safe and pleasurable for you, and, _AND_ I've told you million times before, if you're dead set that bottoming isn't for you, then I'll do it. I don't see what the problem is. I want you, all of you, and you won't trust me."

Great, now he was bringing trust into it. Like it wasn't blatantly obvious he trusted him more than any of the nine billion other people on Earth. The amount Rin knew about him terrified him infinitely more than a dick in the ass could. "I'm not doing it. It weirds me out."

"How is it any weirder than fucking armpits?"

"I don't know!" Sousuke yanked himself away. "Why can't we mess around like we always do? Why can't you drop it?"

"Because you won't even try! That's all I want, for you to try. You don't wanna top, you don't want me to top, it's too gross for you, no negotiation, end of story. I swear to god I must be the only guy on Earth whose boyfriend doesn't like ass play!"

As if he needed any more confirmation he was a sexual failure. He stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, wished he could slam it a hundred times more, so Rin would understand.

Rin pounded on the door. "You're not locking me out of my own bathroom, asshole! You got twenty seconds before I knock this door off its hinges!"

Everything was going to shit like he knew it would. The gale firing him eased. They could salvage this, somehow, for his sake, if nothing else. "Give me some space."

"How much more? Huh? I gave you an ocean's worth and it wasn't enough!"

Rin thundered off. The bedroom door slammed and Sousuke sat on the toilet, staring at the shaggy grey bath mat.

What was so good about anal anyway? He couldn't see the fun in playing around with a literal shithole. Toys, dicks, fingers, _tongues_!—that Mr Tidy-and-Trim Rin, famed among their underclassmen for his lectures on how clean spaces built clean minds, would want to do something as utterly filthy as sticking his _tongue_ up someone's ass was incomprehensible. Rin could talk about dental dams or enemas or whatever he liked, it didn't make it any less repulsive. They managed to work around it this far. Frotting, thighfucking, handies, blowjobs, those all he could handle, and Rin liked them too, at least he thought he did, but it always came back to anal in the end. Wasn't it enough to be together however they could? Must they succumb to the propaganda that anal was the alpha and the omega, the be-all-end-all of gay sex? When Rin swallowed him to the balls, when he shivered in delight while they frotted, was he thinking about how much better it would be to knocking his cock against a fat turd?

But it wasn’t Rin’s fault, not really. Rin was normal. It was him that was weird. Him that couldn't satisfy his partner the way he wanted. Getting the perfect flat couldn’t fix that. Nausea burned in his throat. He buried his head between his knees, agonizingly aware of his stomach fat creasing into rolls. Squeezed his fists til the knucklebones showed white. Pathetic, that's what he was. Pathetic.

Manjuu poured through the door in a viscous wave, eddying around Rin's feet as he thrashed the room. If Sousuke wanted him to treat him like some kind of lust-crazed beast, then that's what he'd be. He punted Sousuke's duffel across the room, swearing in a melted mash of Aussie and Japanese. Sousuke expected he could just fly over here and jingle some keys at him like he was a baby that wouldn't remember the half-assedness and broken promises and the refusal to compromise. He wanted them to live together when he couldn't trust him enough to have real sex.

_**Here I am, love me.** _

He rounded back for the duffel, struck a goal through the door. Souman glanced up as the bag soared over his head, then took Rin by the hand and guided him to the bed. Rin gladly threw himself in and sprawled out, letting Souman melt over his arms, fingers, neck, toes. This was bullshit. Dad didn’t have to grovel on his knees to sleep with his mom. He wouldn’t exist if that was the case. Souman engulfed him in warmth, opening up a pocket for his cock. Anger subsided; there was only room for peace now, and comfort.

Littler manjuu congregated on the bed, piling atop this smothering sympathy. Souman rumbled, shaping his interior into a smooth, firm rump with weighty cheeks and tugged his cock back to life. A slimy tentacle reached back and probed at his own anus. Manjuu wriggled beneath Rin to provide a more amenable angle and he gladly propped his legs wider. If Sousuke wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, then he would take it where he could. Fuck Sousuke and his pancake ass.

Composure reassembled, Sousuke braved the journey to the bedroom, hoping Rin would have likewise cooled down. He paused at the door.

“Rin, what...”

Rin, immersed in a sprawling tangle of manjuu, didn't hear him. The eyes of the three basketball-sized manjuu encircling his head swirled around their bodies to study him, then returned them to their rightful places. A pearl manjuu roosting on Rin's forehead gibbered at him and Rin glanced towards Sousuke, eyes hazed.

"Oh, hey. Sorry about the yelling, I was being stupid. Don't worry about the anal thing anymore, I got a plan on lock. We can do all the stuff you like and for the stuff you don't want, I've got them." The mass around his groin shuddered. "Once I'm done I'll blow you or whatever. Sound good?"

For a ludicrous instant, Sousuke thought to say yes, but the absurdity of the situation caught up.

“No, it doesn’t. I’m not okay with you sleeping with—whatever these things are!” Hate spilled up his throat faster than he could silence it. "You're cheating on me with a blob!"

"It's not cheating, they're not people. It's more like... a sentient sex toy." Rin lifted one dough-covered arm and admired it pouring down to the bed. “It’s fun. You should try it.”

He didn’t want any of this. All he wanted was Rin. It shouldn't be that hard for him to understand. He took a chilled breath, swallowed the sudden nausea encroaching on his tongue, and tried to figure out how to fix the situation. First, deescalate. Even though he wanted to scream and shout and tear them to pieces and atomize them to dust, it wouldn't do anything about the core problems—Rin not loving him, and Rin craving more of the pleasures of the flesh than he could provide.

He stood at the edge of the bed, swatting away an errant manjuu, and buttered his tongue. He cleared his throat. "Forget this. Let's go to bed. We can talk about whatever you want in the morning."

The trio of manjuu surrounding his head each extruded a thick tentacle and inserted in into Rin's mouth. They pulsed in a putrid, languid motion as the manjuu grunted. They withdrew briefly, tips smudged with some kind of reddish ejaculate.

“M’not sleepy,” Rin slurred, mouth lolling open to let a fourth manjuu reach in and eject a thick, dark red paste. His tongue smeared it across the flats of his teeth, spackled it on his gums.

Hesitating. “You never took me to that Korean place you’re always banging on about. We could grab a snack.”

“Not hungry ‘r thirsty either,” Rin laughed. “’m hornyyyy...”

To prove the point, he slogged his arms up through the muck and patted the undulating mass working on his pelvis with a lascivious grin. The curtain of dough crusted to his lower half parted, revealing a long, thick tentacle with concentric rings running up its length worming into his asshole at a calm pace. His pink rectum shrank around the core then spread lewdly, like a wound when a ring came through, contracting back on the arm in preparation for the next. **Hate** imprinted itself on his every nerve. He didn’t get to be Rin’s first. Even if he didn’t want to do it, he wanted the opportunity, the comfort of knowing he was the only man Rin would let inside him. The dough curtain descended, ending the peepshow.

“Was’wrong?” Rin peered up at him. “You looklike the time when Gou the... the bird picture you drew for class an she tore it by accident ‘member? Andyou cried cuzyou worked really hard on it.” He waited sweetly on a response Sousuke couldn't give for his own sanity. "IIII geddit... yu don wanna be left out. C’meerrre.” Again, he reached out for him. “You don’ hafta fuck me. Just hold me. Just how you like.”

Torn between the urge to bite his tongue and drown the both of them in his blood and to surrender to the scene, Sousuke positioned himself over the suctioning anus, the penetrating tentacle, and sank into chaos. Repulsive warmth slopped over him, sucking him deeper.

“Beeee nice,” Rin lectured the manjuu. “He’s shensitive. ‘n he doesn’ like butt stuff.”

They obliged, courteously leaving his ass unfucked and cock unsucked while filling into every other crack and crevice. They spread between his toes like peanut butter, suctioning to his armpits, always moving. Lost in the mass beneath him, he could feel Rin’s body, an island of rock in a sea of softness. The mobile ass stretched up, moving the brunt of its body to the tip of Rin's cock, twisting, grinding.

“Tease. Gonna, gonna cum in ya, gonna... gonna take that stick outta yer ass and stuff it with cum...” He laughed, fever radiating from his face. "Yer cute butt stuffed with my cum, yeah..."

Between his legs, Sousuke could feel the internal tentacle pick up pace and Rin writhed, head rolling on the sheets.

"Wanted yer cock for so long, fuck—!” His neck twisted to a vulgar angle, exposing too much jugular.

Rin’s voice grew throatier, bestial. Four tentacles plunged into his mouth and the manjuu quartet's grunting started again, pumping faster this time. Reddish spit squelched up, bubbling around the corners of his mouth, streaking the tentacles. Other manjuu clumped around his feet, plunging their own into every crevice they could find, sodomizing his toes and kneepits with zeal, tantalizing his thighs. New tentacles branched off the one plundering his anus and crammed in alongside their paternal trunk. Manjuu of every size rioted around them, spraying red paste with reckless abandon, smearing both themselves and Rin with it. Through the pulsing tentacles, a cracked moan ripped out as Rin shook, hips jerking, stilling. The manjuu frenzied, devouring his seed and bubbling out new life to add to the heap.

Sweating, shivering, Rin turned his weary, tender gaze on Sousuke, in the throes of a sublime high, and his lips crinkled in a lopside smile. His eyelids sank, permitting Sousuke a blessed microsecond of respite from those adoring voids. “Love you, Sousuke. Love you forever an ever an ever...”

Manjuu coalesced over him, morphing and sealing to his flesh. His face stretched into sharp profile, a shadow over his open mouth before shrinking back into inconstancy. Eyes eddied across the mass like sesame seeds. Sousuke drew back, realizing the manjuu had no interest in holding him. They melted and flowed between his fingers, scores of smug smiles dispersing, reassimilating before him. The more he grabbed, the thicker they got, sticking to his arms, trying to be polite in their rejection, grumbling, then growling—heaving up as one to bounce him from the bed. Pain whited over his vision. When it returned, the human within blob was no longer distinguishable.

Defeated, Sousuke stood at the end of the bed, cradling his numb arm. The mass disgorged a reddish spheroid, small enough to sit in the palm of his hand. It rolled around, noting its paternal mass, then turned towards Sousuke with a huge, toothy grin. Its pastel face calmed him, in spite of everything. He sat down and leaned back against the bed in a stupor.

Red brows furrowed and the manjuu settled on his shoulder, making questioning noises, nudging itself against his neck. When that failed to yield a response, it spun on the spot, pressing harder, growling and laughing, nipping at his collarbone. Sousuke felt his chest, strangely detached from the rest of him, began to shudder. The red manjuu climbed higher, wrapped its loving tendrils around him, and cooed everything he'd ever wanted to hear from Rin. Be not afraid, for it would be with him, supporting his each step with all its power.

It would love him at his pace, on his terms, unconditionally.

**Author's Note:**

> O[bligatory.](https://files.catbox.moe/yftopn.png) Let's all love manjuu.
> 
> Criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged, and I'll answer any questions that you have. Thanks for reading.  
> 24 May 2020  
> \- 匿名重工業


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